On a dusty trail framed

by woods, there is a split.

One can choose to go

to the right or the left.

In the triangle formed by

the split are the ruins

of an old log cabin. The

stone chimney still stands

tall and a stone foundation

outlines the room. All 

else is gone with no trace 

of its former inhabitants.

I wonder who lived there

and when? Was it a

family or perhaps a 

bearded hermit who

loved his solitude and

discouraged strangers

from approaching? Or

perhaps there was a 

girl who ran wild and

barefoot in the spring 

and summer marveling

at the wild flowers and

learning which plants

soothed a stomach ache

or a sore throat or brought

a fever down. I’d like to

think her parents whiled

the dark nights of winter

away telling her tales

about times past. Perhaps

there was a traveling librarian

who came by on her mule

and loaned her books to read.

I picture her curled up

by that old stone fireplace

at night totally lost in the 

words on the page. What 

happened to her? Did she 

grow up to be a medicine

woman or maybe a traveling 

librarian herself spreading 

her love for books to other 

young girls. I will never know

who the inhabitants of that 

old cabin were or when they

were there, but my imagination 

enables me to make up a 

story that lights up my soul.